Fumbling Toward Ecstasy
by boldlikeblack
Summary: A/U Dean and Cas get drunk.


For castielsmitesyou on tumblr, who posted this:

_FIC REQUEST! PLEASE SOMEONE WRITE IT!_

_Ok, so. _

_Let's say in this fic it's at the end of season 6 and Castiel falls and becomes human. Some time has past and he's been at Bobby's recovering and then he starts hunting with the boys. They're teaching him stuff etc. So, one night Sam is off doing something. So Dean and Castiel decide to get drunk and they're staggering back from the bar, arm over each other…and then maybe they fall over each other trying to get back into the motel room…and maybe when Dean's trying to get back up he slips and ends up kissing Castiel, then maybe they start to make out…and then who knows? :P_

_Then how do they deal with it when they're sober? Deep down they both want it but we know how stubborn they are, especially Dean!_

_Let the creative juices flow, GO!_

**Title:** Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

**Fandom: ** Supernatural

**Pairing:** Dean Winchester/Castiel

**Genre:** Romance/Angst

**Rating:** 14A

**Spoilers:** Up to 6x20 (Will probably not be current to 6x21/6x22)

**Warning:** This is Destiel. If you've got issues with slash, you're in the wrong ass place. Also, I may have deviated from the original request, uh, _slightly_.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this. It belongs to the CW and Kripke & Co. I'm not making money off of this; it's simply a challenge to see if I can write from a prompt. I also do not own Praying Mantis Lady. She is property of Joss Whedon. I'm just a poor little fangirl pandering to the masses (and by masses I mean castielsmitesyou). Thanks to huntress69 on LJ for her Beta job! (find me on LJ: autumnnerd, find me on tumblr: Fangasmic)

**- SPN -**

It's probably not the best time to laugh.

Castiel is hanging from a set of iron manacles, with his shirt torn open and his jeans around his ankles, dehydrated and bruised to shit. There is nothing amusing about the blood caked on the side of the former angel's face or the bite marks that decorate his neck. It has to be one of the least funny situations that Castiel has gotten into since Chuck, who had apparently been God the whole time, stripped him of his wings and sent him to earn passage back to Heaven by apprenticing in the Winchester family business, but Dean can't help the laughter that roars out of him.

"I'm glad you find my imminent demise so amusing, Dean," Castiel rasps.

"Sorry...sorry...glad you're okay," Dean says between peals of laughter.

Castiel sighs. "I would appreciate if you could pull yourself together long enough to get me down from here," he replies. "I can no longer feel my hands and I need to urinate."

The comment sobers Dean and his laughter tapers off to a few stubborn, unmanly giggles. He wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes and retrieves his crowbar from where the She-Mantis knocked it, and him, in her desperate flight from her lair. Confident that Sam was taking care of business with the bug lady, Dean makes short work of the bolt holding Castiel's manacles to the wall. The cuffs themselves will have to wait until later, when they got back to the hotel and Dean can retrieve the hacksaw from the Impala's trunk.

Castiel practically collapses against Dean when the bolt comes free and Dean has to throw the crowbar aside to make sure that Castiel doesn't rebound and give the cement floor a nice big kiss. He manhandles the ex-angel to the floor and gives Castiel's wounds a once over. The one on his head looks nasty, but head wounds tend to bleed a lot so Dean can't be sure how bad it is until he can get it clean. Castiel's pants prove to be a problem when Dean drags him up to stand, holding Castiel tight by the waist. The jeans tangle around Castiel's knees and Dean laughs again as he awkwardly hoists the jeans up to where they ought to be and fastens them.

Dean can feel Castiel glaring at him as he takes hold of the other man again. "C'mon, Cas," he says, stifling another errant chuckle, "you got kidnapped by a freaking creature called a _Virgin_ _Thief_. Cut me a break."

"She was going to force me to fornicate with her, Dean," Castiel rumbles against his neck, stumbling along as Dean leads him up the basement stairs. "Once I had...served her purpose...I was to be decapitated. I fail to see the humor."

Dean clears his throat. "I guess you had to be there," he suggests.

Castiel doesn't say another word until they exit out onto the driveway. Dean carefully deposits him into the back of the Impala, noticing the way Castiel winces whenever he moves his arms. He hopes Castiel's shoulders aren't partially dislocated and adds it to his mental list of things to check when they get back to the motel. "Stay awake," he orders. "I'll be back soon."

Castiel sags against the seat and nods. Satisfied, Dean re-enters the house. He does a sweep and finds Sam in the master bedroom, standing over the she-bug's headless corpse. "Cas okay?" Sam asks.

"For the most part," Dean answers. "She didn't even get all his clothes off."

Sam nods. "I've checked this floor for eggs and there's nothing. Did you see anything downstairs?" he asks.

Dean shakes his head. "Torch the place?" he says.

"There's a gas stove in the kitchen. The nearest house is a quarter mile away. We should be long gone before the fire department shows," Sam replies.

Ten minutes and one blazing inferno later, they're speeding away. Dean smiles at Sam, squished in the back, keeping Castiel awake, and decides to call it a win.

**- SPN -**

After his wounds are clean and it becomes apparent that he doesn't have a concussion, Dean gives Castiel the go ahead to get some rest. Castiel sleeps for nearly 48 hours straight. Dean can't really blame him, since the guy spent almost that long being prepped for some nasty-ass bug lovin', but staying in the cramped motel room to keep an eye on Castiel starts to get to him around the 30 hour mark. Dean's stir crazy by the time Castiel wakes, sitting up in bed and blinking sleepily.

"Evening, Sleeping Beauty," Dean says, pushing a cup of what can barely be called coffee into Castiel's hands. It's at least two-thirds milk and there's so much sugar in it that it's practically syrup, but it's the only way Castiel will drink coffee and Dean wants him awake for the rest of the night.

Castiel downs the coffee and hands the cup back to Dean. He yawns and touches his head, wincing at the tenderness of the healing wound. He leans back against the headboard and accepts the second cup of coffee that Dean makes for him. He drinks it slowly and groans. "I feel...unpleasant," he states.

"Getting worked over by a giant bug will do that to you," Dean remarks.

Castiel glares at him and Sam gives Dean a spectacular bitchface by peering over the screen of his laptop. Dean shrugs. "Not cool, Dean," Sam states.

Dean shrugs. "Remember the whorehouse?" Dean asks, grinning. At Castiel's sheepish nod, he continues. "She-mantis virgin thieves would not be a problem for you if you'd had sex with that girl."

"Chastity," Castiel mumbles.

"Right," Dean replies "You wouldn't feel unpleasant right now if you'd had sex with Chastity."

Castiel squirms under the covers and looks away. "You know I'm right," Dean says, grinning again. "I also remember promising you that you wouldn't die a virgin."

Sam frowns at Dean as Castiel flushes. "Now you're just being mean," Sam remarks.

Dean ignores him and smiles wolfishly at Castiel. "We're going out. We're going to get some burgers, we're going to drink some beers and we are going to get you laid," he states, leaving no room for argument.

"I would prefer to rest," Castiel replies with an exasperated glare.

"Tough," Dean says, slapping him on the leg. "You got thirty. Get up, take a shower and get ready for love. You too, Sammy."

"Dean," Sam huffs, nearly pouting.

"No buts, we're all getting laid tonight," Dean answers, smiling widely. Satisfied to have the last word, he strides out to the Impala to wait.

**- SPN -**

Castiel and Sam both give Dean the silent treatment all the way to the diner, but Sam's groomed his moose-mane and Castiel is freshly showered and outfitted in the black leather motorcycle jacket that turns female witnesses into puddles of lady-mush, so Dean figures they'll be over it in no time. Sam recovers mid-salad, since he bailed on the burger part of the equation, when a short, adorable girl in a green jacket and black tee-shirt with a sparkly cupcake screened on the front smiles at him. Sam returns the smile and the cutie waves, while licking the chocolate syrup off her sundae spoon. "Maybe I do need to get some," Sam remarks with a hint of a dopey grin.

"You practically have a neon sign over your junk," Dean replies around the fries he's just shoved in his mouth.

"That's disgusting," Sam states.

Dean swallows his fries and grins. "If it bothers you, you can always go sit with Cutie McPie over there," he smirks.

Dean doesn't really expect Sam to do it, but he picks up his plate and, after politely asking Cutie if the seat was taken, sits down next to the adorable girl and strikes up a conversation, leaving Dean alone with the taciturn ex-angel. Dean slides his food across the table and takes Sam's seat on the other side of the booth. Castiel keeps his eyes glued to his plate and is apparently doing his best to pretend that Dean doesn't exist. They clean their plates in silence and Dean feels sort of guilty at the way the fluorescent lights bring out the dark circles under Castiel's eyes. Dean waves the waitress over and orders two slices of apple pie. In an obvious bid for forgiveness, Dean gives Castiel the bigger piece.

Castiel doesn't look up, but he does smile. "Thank you, Dean," he says before digging into his pie.

Dean's only a quarter of the way done his slice when Castiel finishes his. Castiel licks his lips and stares longingly at Dean's pie. Dean finishes his forkful and pushes the rest of the slice toward Castiel. "Don't say I never gave you anything," he huffs.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel repeats.

Dean has to stop Castiel from licking the plate. It's eerily reminiscent of an incident in Ohio that happened shortly after Castiel discovered sugar. It had taken Dean and Sam tag teaming him to pry the rainbow, sour belt candy out of Castiel's hands. Dean chuckles and it makes Castiel crack a smile. Sam, sensing that all is forgiven, returns to the booth, taking the seat next to Castiel.

"Ella says that Tuesdays are buck-a-beer night at this dive a few blocks over," he shares, smiling like a junior at prom.

"Ella sounds like my kind of girl," Dean teases.

Sam pulls a bitchface and Dean rolls his eyes. "If we are to consume mass quantities of alcohol, cheaper would be better," Castiel interjects.

"She need a ride?" Dean asks lewdly, just to get under Sam's skin.

"It's only a few blocks," Sam says.

"What are we waiting for then?" Dean asks.

**- SPN -**

Apparently, it's not a good night to try to de-hymenate a very awkward hunter.

The beer isn't too watered down and everyone is having a good time, even Sam who is getting steadily drunker and more affectionate while Ella kicks his ass at pool. Dean has no doubts about them going home together and Ella seems nice, if a little snarky. Dean's pretty sure that, once they leave, he won't see Sammy until lunchtime tomorrow. He's strangely comfortable with it.

Castiel, on the other hand, is striking out so hard he ought to be demoted all the way back to little league. He's had three beers thrown in his face and he's been slapped twice. Dean had to do some fast talking to keep Castiel from getting tossed out of the bar. Castiel has all but given up and is sulking in a booth near the emergency exit.

Dean can't exactly say he's a success story either. Most of the women than have caught his eye are with someone. The only one he actually hit on, a raven-haired stunner with big, blue eyes, turned out to be a lesbian waiting for her girlfriend. Said girlfriend turned out to be a gorgeous blond who was a dead ringer for the chick who played a space pilot on that show Castiel loved, Battle-something Whatever. She caught him staring, with his jaw somewhere around his knees, after she kissed the stunner hello and gave him a look that would have given Hoth a run for its money in the frigid department. The look also definitely ruled out the possibility of joining the lovely ladies for a little menage-a-oh-yeah.

Dean nearly had a heart attack when he turned to go back to the booth and Castiel was right behind him. He startles, spilling beer all down his front. He glares at Castiel, mumbling about personal space and making good on his threat to get him a freaking bell. "What the hell, Cas?" he demands.

"I do not believe that I will be successful at fornicating tonight," Castiel replies, stone-faced. "I am both relieved and disappointed. I have the urge to consume large quantities of alcohol to drown my proverbial sorrows. I believe that, since this was your idea, you should purchase the beer."

"Fair enough," Dean concedes, giving up on the lovely ladies of Nowheresville, Iowa, for the time being. Instead, he gives the bartender one of the fraudulent credit cards in his wallet and tells him to keep the drinks coming until he _has_ to cut them off.

**- SPN -**

Dean decides that the bartender is a good guy.

He keeps the booze coming long after Sam goes home with Ella and Dean nearly punches out some hick for looking at Castiel the wrong way. Dude looked at Castiel like the angel was toilet paper stuck to his shoe on the way out of the bathroom. That is not okay in Dean's book. Sure, Castiel nearly punched a hole in Purgatory that probably would have ended the world, but everybody makes mistakes and Castiel is one of the good guys most of the time, so looking at him like he's less than dirt is a no right on. Dude is either smarter or more sober than he lets on and he hauls ass out of the bar when Dean asks him if he's got a problem that he'd like to discuss outside. Pansy.

Castiel is very, very drunk. "Dean," he slurs, "are you listening? You should be listening. You never listen. I am trying to tell you something of great...of great...it's important."

"I hear you, buddy," Dean hiccups. "Run that by me again?"

"Your tattoo, while aes...aesthet...nice to look at, is not enough. You need more protection. You should get some more. There are better sigils," Castiel insists, gesturing wildly with his hands.

"You think I need more ink?" Dean asks, drunkenly squinting at Castiel.

"That's what I've been saying this whole time," Castiel huffs.

"I'll think about it," Dean replies, shrugging.

"You shouldn't think," Castiel says solemnly. "You should do it. I'll prepare the sigils when we get back. You can get them tomorrow."

"I can't just get a tattoo on a whim, Cas," Dean says.

"You can do anything, Dean," Castiel replies, smiling sloppily.

The bartender clears his throat as he comes to a stop at their table. "Sorry, boys," he says, "it's closing time."

Dean looks around, noticing that there are only a few patrons left in the bar, most of them professional drinkers who have reserved stools at the bar. "Sure thing, thanks," Dean replies.

When he stands, Dean realizes that he must have had more to drink than he thought because the room tilts on its axis. Drunk as he is though, his instincts are pretty good. Dean grabs Castiel just before the angel's knees give out. The whiskey they'd gone shot for shot with an hour or so ago was probably a poor choice, judging by how heavily they lean on each other as they stumble out of the bar. "Tomorrow is going to suck," Dean remarks as they amble toward their motel.

"It's already tomorrow," Castiel replies, laughing a little.

It takes Dean three tries to get the motel door open. He puts the blame squarely on Castiel because the guy can barely stand by himself, which makes it very difficult to use one hand to open the door when he needs to use both to keep Castiel on his feet. Keeping Castiel standing is even harder because apparently finds the situation hysterical and damn does he wiggle when he laughs. Dean is sorely tempted to drop the other man on his ass once they've made it through the door. If he didn't feel so bad about his spectacular failure to make good on his promise to keep Castiel from dying a virgin, he probably would have.

Instead he helps Castiel to one of the beds, intending to drop the ex-angel and crawl into his own bed to pass out until his hangover woke him up. Of course, it doesn't exactly work out like that. Somewhere in the short distance between the door and the beds, the carpet gets the better of them and they go all Three Stooges in a feeble attempt not to fall down. Castiel grabs Dean's shirt for balance, Dean grabs Castiel's jacket and then Castiel's foot gets behind Dean's and Dean's foot gets stuck between Castiel's and that's all she freaking wrote.

Dean ends up on the bed with Castiel sprawled on top of him. For his part, Castiel is laughing again. The situation should probably be funny, but it's hard to find the humor in a near-hysterical, 5' 11" former Angel of the Lord squirming against Dean in places that Dean should not be enjoying him squirming against. "Stop wiggling," he growls, grabbing Castiel by the shoulder.

Castiel freezes and he stares at Dean. His eyes are endless and the stare is the creepily intense one that he hasn't used since his first human days when Dean lectured him on appropriate eye contact. He puts an elbow down beside Dean's head and leans on his hand. He lifts his other hand to trace across the bridge of Dean's nose and cheeks with his index finger. Dean opens his mouth to roar into a drunken, poorly worded lecture about personal space and appropriate touching between friends, because they are friends and that is all, but stops when Castiel sighs and smiles sweetly. "Do you know how hard it was to get this right?" he asks softly.

Dean's not entirely sure what Castiel is talking about, or even what exactly is going on between them, two totally heterosexual friends, so he doesn't answer.

"I had to make sure that each freckle would come out exactly where it was supposed to be when you got too much sun, but I couldn't see them once I'd put them there. It was...frustrating. I missed a few," he muses. The smile that crosses his face is soft and full of regret. "I'm sorry I got it wrong, Dean," he says, eyes welling up. "I'm so very sorry."

Even through the haze of his inebriation, Dean understands that Castiel isn't talking about his freckles. "We all make mistakes, Cas," he states. "If we didn't, we would never learn anything."

Castiel swallows thickly and no tears escape. He sweeps his thumb over Dean's cheek. He looks mesmerized and Dean should be moving because he's done this enough times to know what happens next, except that he can't. On autopilot, Castiel brushes his lips against Dean's.

It's hardly even a kiss by Dean's standards. It's barely even a whisper of a kiss. It's so soft that Dean could go ahead and pretend to lose this moment in a haze of drunkenness and pretend that everything is normal and fine and there is nothing more than friendship here. Castiel would forgive him, he knows. Castiel would forgive him anything. That's if Castiel even remembers it. He's drunker than Dean. He could forget. Dean should want him to forget.

Castiel presses his lips together as he pulls away, looking all at once like the confused nerd angel he used to be. For a moment, he looks like Dean's Castiel again and that is the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. Dean's hands move before he even thinks about it. He grabs the front of Castiel's shirt, which used to be his before Castiel "borrowed" it, and yanks him forward. He swallows Castiel's startled yelp as their lips crush together and Dean makes it his mission to ensure that Castiel will never forget this.

Dean kisses Castiel until they're both breathless and shaking. He greedily gulps in air and then flips their positions, pressing Castiel's back to the mattress and fusing their lips together. Castiel fists his hands in the back of Dean's shirt in a desperate way that makes Dean ache inside. Dean slides one hand up into Castiel's unruly hair, tangling his fingers there to anchor himself because he has no idea what the hell is happening right now. Somewhere inside of him, a levy has broken and his heart is flooded with things that he's tried very, very hard not to think about, but even that can't bring him to stop.

Dean nips at Castiel's lower lip and is rewarded with a gasp that lets him slip his tongue between Castiel's lips. Castiel shivers and sort of melts beneath him, turning into a big ol' puddle of man-putty. Dean breaks the kiss and Castiel whimpers, only to gasp trails kisses down one side of his neck and up the other before catching Castiel's earlobe between his teeth and nibbling on it ever so slightly. Castiel's breath hitches and Dean pulls back.

He's unprepared for the war between complete devastation and pure joy warring in Castiel's eyes. It's like he's been given everything he could possibly want, only to be told that sorry, we got it wrong, it wasn't meant for you. That's when Dean finally allows himself to get it. "Fuck, Cas," he chokes out around the lump in his throat.

Castiel tries to look away, but Dean grabs his chin and forces Castiel to meet his eyes. Dean has sobered since they got in, but there all the things he wants to say and all the questions he wants to ask are colliding in his mind and nothing that comes out of his mouth is going to make sense. He plants a kiss on Castiel's forehead and rolls them onto their sides so that he can crush Castiel to his chest in an embrace that says enough for now.

"Dean?" Castiel asks.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Dean promises shakily, not letting go.

"It is tomorrow, Dean," Castiel replies, settling into Dean's arms.

"Go to sleep, Cas," Dean says.

It's not long before they're snoring against each other, content.

**- SPN -**

"You're kind of amazing," Sam admits, stopping in front of his motel room door.

"You have no idea," Ella chuckles, winking.

Sam uses their entwined hands to pull her in for a kiss. He has to stoop, but he always has to stoop so it's not a big deal. When they break apart, he smiles.

"I haven't felt this good in a long time," he says quietly.

Guilt flashes across Ella's face so quickly Sam thinks he might have imagined it. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Just enjoy it," Ella insists, lisping her 's' a little.

The hair on the back of Sam's neck stands up a little but he shakes it off because he tested her last night at the bar and Ella passed with flying colors. "Thanks for the ride," he says.

Ella smiles and Sam lets go of her hand so that he can open the door. His jaw drops as the sunlight from the cracked door fills the room. Castiel and Dean are together in one of the beds. It's not uncommon for them to share, since Sam is huge and usually gets a bed to himself, but this is new. Castiel has his head on Dean's chest and his hand is curled around Dean's bicep, with one leg draped across Dean's waist. Dean's arms are around Castiel and it looks like it's the most natural thing in the world, like they've never done anything else. Sam is torn between wondering how much they drank the night before and how he never noticed what was going on right in front of him.

"Everything okay?" Ella asks, pushing the door open a little more to peer around him.

"God I hope so," Sam replies.

"Took them long enough," Ella remarks with a chuckle.

Sam turns to stare at her. She has her head tipped to one side and a smile on her face that is comprised entirely of pride and relief.

"What?" he says, stepping away from her.

"Your brother is nearly as stubborn as you are, Sammy-boy," Ella states, smirking.

"Gabriel?" Sam asks, disbelieving.

"You really are the smart one," she replies with a laugh.

Sam makes a grab for her, but Ella...Gabriel...dances out of reach. "See you around, lover," she says, blowing him a kiss and vanishing in a rustle of feathers.

Sam stands outside the motel door, cheeks flushing, and wonders what could possibly happen next.

**- THE END -**


End file.
